


Coming For You Now

by HoodiesandComputers



Category: Arrow (TV 2012), Arrow - Olicity, olicity - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Masturbation, Mild Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-18
Updated: 2016-03-18
Packaged: 2018-05-27 10:05:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6280243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HoodiesandComputers/pseuds/HoodiesandComputers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Felicity planned on having a quiet Sunday night watching TV and having “me time” until a certain someone ruins the moment. NSFW, unestablished Olicity AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coming For You Now

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a semi-smutty piece I wrote as I was trying to get rid of my writer's block. It hasn't been edited so forgive me for any mistakes! I hope you enjoy :)

_She gasps as her legs clamp down around his shoulders, feeling her entire body heat up as he runs his tongue along her wet and swollen lips. A sheen of sweat is beginning to form on her chest, glistening under the dim lighting of her bedroom. Closing her eyes, she brings up her hands and toys with her nipples, pinching and rolling them as he skillfully sucks on her clit. The sensation causes her to arch her back and she moans, aching to find her release soon but simultaneously wanting this to be a slow and torturous as possible._

_God, she could do this for days._

_He_   _shifts to get comfortable around her legs, his mouth still working over her sex, never letting her go. He’s determined to make her sore and unable to walk for days, which she’ll happily accept. Knowing he’s wrapped around her legs with the sole purpose of getting her off makes her feel powerful and incredibly sexy. Lifting her head, she watches him eat her out, his tongue flicking against her lips then circling back up to her clit._

_Groaning at the sight, Felicity slightly leans forward and softly touches his cheek. He stops his movements and looks up at her, his eyes hooded with lust while his mouth hangs open, her wetness coating every inch. His hair is mussed from their makeout session, and a slight flush is beginning to form on his neck._

_Now this . . . **this**  she can get used to._

_“Fuck, Oliver --”_

Her sinful, naughty fantasy is suddenly broken the moment her phone goes off. Slapping a hand against her forehead, Felicity sighs exasperatedly and reaches for her phone on the coffee table. It’s Sara calling her at 8:50 on a Sunday night, even though Felicity explicitly told her she was going to bed early. She’s tempted to pull a Samantha from  _Sex and the City_  -- “Sara, I’m masturbating. I TOLD you I’d be doing that  _all_  day” -- but alas, Felicity doesn’t have the guts to tell Sara she was bored out of her mind while watching TV, and thought this would be a good way to pass time.  

Deciding not to pick up, Felicity drops her phone back on the table and resumes her extracurricular activity. She circles her clit to build up some rhythm, but when she closes her eyes to focus on her fantasy, her mind blanks out and refuses to give her material to work with.  _“_ Really?” Felicity mutters to herself.  

Taking a deep breath, Felicity attempts to hone in her concentration and settles for a fantasy involving her and Oliver bent over his desk. His very  _big_  work desk on the 47th floor of Queen Consolidated, with glass doors and even bigger windows.  _Oh yeah_. Felicity’s not one for voyeurism, but she’s seen how empty that floor can be late at night and, well, she’s thought about it. A lot. 

Of course, he’s the current COO who’s completely off-limits, not to mention he’s her friend who has  _zero_  feelings for her, but that’s irrelevant in Felicity’s one bedroom apartment. As long as she’s safely tucked in her haven,  _everything_  is possible. And as long as Oliver doesn’t know she’s been hung up on him for nearly a year, then everything is all right. 

Maybe. 

_Running a hand though her hand and down her back, Oliver’s palm surveys her ass before smacking it. She hisses at the sudden contact, but the rush of adrenaline that follows after is worth the pain._

_“You like that?” His voice low and husky, but Felicity can detect a slight tremor hidden beneath layers of desire._

_She’s a woman possessed, unable to control herself. “Yes,” she says breathlessly. Craning her neck to the side, she watches Oliver intently focus on her --_

Her phone goes off again, buzzing loudly before dropping to the floor. “Jesus Christ!” If it’s Sara calling again she’ll need to have a word with her about quiet Sunday nights. Reaching for her phone, she picks it up and sees that it’s Oliver. Frowning, Felicity contemplates answering it until she notices he texted her twice a minute ago. It must be urgent.

“Hey Oliver.” She feels a little weird staring up at the ceiling with one hand inside her pajamas while casually talking on the phone. “What’s up?”

“Hey, I texted you but you didn’t answer. I’m downstairs at the lobby and there’s a new doorman. He’s not letting me up.”

Her heartbeat stills before picking back up, thumping wildly in her chest. “Is something wrong?” Felicity’s not accustomed to Oliver randomly coming to her place, but he usually gives her at least an hour warning before suddenly barging in.

It’s quiet for a moment. “Um . . . Game of Thrones is on tonight. Did you forget?”

_Oh no_. Shit, shit, shit.  

_Shit_.

It’s been their little tradition to watch Game of Thrones at either her place or Oliver’s every Sunday night. Usually, Oliver brings a bottle of red wine and Felicity tries to cook something edible, but that typically ends in disaster. She  _completely_  forgot Game of Thrones was premiering today, and wants to throw up at the new development. Tonight was all about lounging around with old PJs, no bra, and generally being bored out of her mind until Felicity fell asleep. 

“I, uh, yeah sorry. I did forget. Can you hand the phone to the doorman?”

There’s some commotion on the phone while Oliver gives it to her doorman. Felicity sits up and removes her sticky hand from her pants, disappointed she wasn’t able to orgasm and couldn’t continue her lonely night of masturbation. “Yes?”  

She gets up and rushes over to the kitchen sink, washing her hands thoroughly to remove any trace of scent on her fingers. “Hi, this is Felicity Smoak in Room 502. Oliver Queen is allowed to come up.” Once she finishes washing her hands, she heads to the bathroom and balks at the sight of her hair. 

“All right Ms. Smoak, but next time he needs to be on the residential access list.” The doorman sounds undeniably bored, but even though he’s being annoying and choosing to follow the rules, this is buying her time to clean up. 

“Of course.” 

“Thank you, Ms. Smoak.”

Shutting the phone before Oliver can chat with her, she promptly uses the bathroom and hopes the elevator stalls for a minute. The living room has popcorn and blankets littered all over, and she’s yet to wear a bra -- God, she should’ve lied and told Oliver she’s not feeling well. 

After thoroughly washing her hands again, Felicity heads to her bedroom to wear a bra, but sees her old MIT sweatshirt begging to be worn.  _That’ll do_. Throwing it on, she puts on a new pair of underwear and runs to her living room, fixing the blanket and gathering leftover popcorn before shoving them in her mouth. 

Feeling like herself again, Felicity takes a quick look in the mirror -- her hair is tamed, she doesn’t look like she’s been having indecent fantasies involving Oliver, and she’s got a clean pair of undies. Felicity Smoak is good to go.

Suddenly there’s a loud knock on the door, indicating Oliver is here. Taking a deep breath, she opens it and tries to pretend she wasn’t jacking off to his stupidly handsome face. “Hey! Sorry about the doorman.”

Oliver grins. He looks well-rested -- he’s been missing out on sleep every since he became COO -- and his collard shirt accentuates his impressive frame. She’s abruptly assaulted by images of Oliver’s bare chest, but that image morphs into Oliver climbing on top of her in his bedroom, getting ready to devour her.  _Focus, Smoak_. 

“No problem. Although, I must admit it was little unsettling to meet someone who doesn’t recognize who I am.”

She rolls her eyes. “How egotistical.”

Winking at Felicity, which causes her heart to skip a beat, he steps inside her apartment as if this is his home. He saunters towards her living room and Felicity notices he didn’t bring anything with him. “Where’s my wine?”

“Demanding much?” 

She laughs. “All right, I’ll let you off this one time. I don’t have anything prepared aside from old popcorn.”

He shrugs, although his face looks a little distant. “That’s fine. I’m surprised you didn’t burn it.”

“Ha ha. You should be a comedian.” Felicity busies herself with setting up the couch and turns on the TV, but Oliver doesn’t move an inch. His eyes keep flicking back and forth between the living room and her bedroom, and his fingers twitch -- a nervous tick of his, one that appears when something is especially bothering him. 

“Oliver, is something wrong?”

Her question snaps him back to reality, and when he faces her a small flush has appeared on his cheeks. His back and shoulders are ridged, and his eyes are carefully devoid of any emotion. Oliver opens his mouth then closes it again, before saying, “I think . . . I’m going to go.”

Now that stops her in her tracks. “What?  _Why?_  Sunday night is our night.” 

Upon Oliver raising a suggestive eyebrow, Felicity hastily adds, “I mean, Sunday night is Game of Thrones night. Why are you leaving?”

He shrugs again, but it’s feels more standoffish than a nonchalant shrug normally feels like. “I don’t know, I thought you might be busy.”

Scoffing, Felicity points in her living room’s general direction. “Do I look like I’m busy? I’m wearing old PJs, I haven’t hung out with anyone in almost two weeks -- you don’t count, of course -- and it’s not like I have a boyfriend. So no, I can assure you I am  _not_  busy.”

After hearing her explanation Oliver visibly relaxes, so much so his shoulders sag and his fingers stop rubbing back and forth.  _This is odd_. Glancing up at the ceiling, he laughs tiredly and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Right.” He inhales deeply but it does nothing to alleviate the redness on his cheeks -- in fact, it worsens. 

Shoving his hands inside his pockets, Oliver awkwardly shifts back and forth and refuses to look at Felicity. “I think I’m gonna go anyway. I -- I have stuff to take care of. And I’m sure you do too.”

Before she can ask why he’s insisting on leaving, Oliver heads straight for the door without sparing Felicity another glance. Perplexed by the turn of events, Felicity catches up to him and touches Oliver’s arm to get his attention. “C’mon, what’s going on? Is it because I asked about the wine? Because I can promise you that’s not why I’m friends with you.” 

Turning around, he curiously looks at her, his cerulean eyes hypnotizing Felicity. She swallows thickly and reminds herself he’s her friend -- nothing more. Oliver chews the inside of his cheek then says, “No, it wasn’t. It’s just . . . Let’s watch the next episode at my place, OK? Right now doesn’t seem to be a good time for you and I.”

There it is again -- Oliver mentioning it’s not a good time to continue their Sunday night tradition. Felicity chooses not to fight back because it appears Oliver’s made up his mind, and she doesn’t feel like making a fuss. “If that’s what you want.” Needless to say, she’s saddened and looked forward to watching Game of Thrones with Oliver.

Oliver nods solemnly and unlocks the door, slowly stepping into the hallway. He takes one more step only to turn around and mischievously look at Felicity, his lips turning upwards into a roguish grin. “Just so you know, next time you might want to spray the room. Sometimes the . . .  _smell_  lingers.” 

Winking at her, he purposely walks towards the elevator and doesn’t look back, leaving her with his perplexing comment. Leaning against the doorframe, Felicity frowns and wonders what he meant. What could Oliver be referring to?

It isn’t until she shuts the door and steps into the living room that she fully understands, and the realization almost causes her to drop dead of embarrassment.

_He knew_. He knew  _exactly_  what she was doing before he came inside. 

“Oh my God.” Burying her face in her hands, Felicity nearly cries at the development, her skin flaming in shame. A bout of nausea hits her but she steadies herself, doing everything in her power to keep the digested popcorn down.  

_That’s_  why he was insisting on leaving and mentioning how busy she must’ve been. No wonder he seemed off when he came inside. She should’ve had the foresight to spray the room, but she never thought it would be that  _strong_. Either Oliver has a strong sense of smell or maybe she should invest in a million dollar Febreze. Of all the people to catch her in an embarrassing, private moment, it had to be Oliver. Who, by the way, happens to be the man she can’t stop thinking about even though they’re  _strictly_  friends. 

There’s no way he’s never going to let this one down. Oliver’s immaturity has lessened since she met him three years ago, but she knows he’s going to turn up the immaturity dial whenever he sees her. God, the embarrassment will be too much for her to handle. 

Eyeing her empty sofa and watching Game of Thrones’ opening sequence play out on her TV, she purses her lips and a devilish thought crosses her mind. Now that Felicity’s all alone, she should probably continue to soil her living room, right? It’s not like he doesn’t know what she’s up to. Might as well make him proud while she’s at it. 

Her mood considerably brighter, Felicity shuts off the TV and gets back to work. 

 


End file.
